Hue

Wednesday, March 2.
We are now in what was North Vietnam. Traveling from Hoi An at 40 km/hr in a “sleeping” bus during the day is a new, and not the most comfortable, experience for Peter. Thinking of the South American sleeping buses, I’m thinking seats upstairs and down. The downstairs ones are fine for sleeping, but feel inclosing if traveling through the day. Therefore, when given the choice, I choose an upper “seat”.
In Vietnam, the first action on a sleeping bus is that you must remove your shoes as you get on and put them into the plastic bag provided. Remember, wear socks for stinky feet and don’t embarrass your mother by having holes in the toes. Also, the sleeping bus has upper and lower berths and you sit with your feet up, like on a lounge chair! They are also designed for Asian-built men - not your tall, sometimes overweight, white folk. Peter is not the biggest on the bus, but it is a squeeze for him to climb the ladder in the narrow aisle and attempt to get comfortable. I am feeling badly about my choice until I realize that the guys on the bottom bunks are flush with the floor. There is no way Peter would be able to get up and down in such a confined space. I also realize that # 21 seat and # 26 are the coldest on the bus. I am in #21 and have the air-conditioning outlet from both sides blowing directly at me. At the second stop, I pull my jacket from its storage space on the outside/back of my pack and my trusty cotton tie-dyed wrap from inside and swaddle myself for the rest of the journey. It is only four hours!Our first stop is fifteen minutes at Marble Mountain in Da Nang. If I had known there were caves to explore and the stop was going to be over a half an hour, I would have gotten off, but it looks like a marble knickknack place. Peter and I stay on the bus while many of the occupants rush off. The Australian group are busy buying, but one guy who appears to be their leader comes back huffing and puffing as he says he has run to the bottom of the caves and back. An experience lost. I’m sure there were lots of others we have missed along the way.
As we pass through Da Nang, I see a school with a class seated in the yard watching intently while the teacher instructs them in rifle shooting. There are three rifles propped in tripods on the ground and a picture of a man on the wall about 50 feet in front of them. Shall we lobby for rifle skills to be taught in Canadian schools? I bet many boys, and some girls, would pick that option over cooking classes.
The number 1 highway follows the ocean wherever possible, but must take a few dips inland past cliff areas. The overhead lights switch just before we enter a tunnel. It goes on and on. The good thing is that it is constructed with markers that stop passing. I’m sure there would be carnage if these poles were not in place. It is the Hai Van tunnel, opened in 2005 and 6.28 km in length. For more information view Wikipedia.
Except when going through the tunnel at 50 km/hr, we continue our slow-boat-to-Hue journey. Except when on the rise or fall of the mountain passes, the entire roadside is inhabited. I assume that is how you squeeze 87 million people into a space 1/3 the size of B.C.

Marble Mountain and some marble statues.

Peter tries to get comfortable!

Finally, we are in Hue. The bus turns off the main road onto an impossibly-narrow street and spews-out the teeming hordes, tossing luggage amongst the crowd which is now doubled by men asking “Need a taxi?” We thought the South American bus depots were a jumble. They are extremely organized in comparison. Later I realize that the people of Hue pride themselves on the safety of their city, so they don’t expect our stuff to get stolen.
Our sixty-dollar a night hotel is serious four star, right on the river, and close to the tourist downtown area. I could get used to simply walking from the taxi and having everything taken care of until I am in the room. Peter has created a monster!We wander down the street for a little lunch, across the bridge to the market where I manage to get a nail emery board for 10 cents and practise my Spanish with a stall vendor who wants to sell me something. We carry on to the supermarket - yes, a real one! - to get water, beer, and crackers, and where I have a conversation with Yen, a brightly-smiling grade 12 student who wants to practise her English. She is hoping to go to university to study economics next year. She attends school in the morning and goes back in the afternoon to study more courses outside of what is required. She says she very much appreciates the hard work of her parents which allows her to attend school. I have a new pen-pal!
We have opted to take a tour tomorrow with a private firm instead of the hotel. It is half the price and we feel it is reputable. A long day!

Not our hotel but the Morin, the old colonial relic.

Peters goes to the modern supermarket.

The Perfume River.

Thursday, March 3.
We are discovering how difficult it is to understand English when you remove all the “r”s. Because of my ESL experience, I’m not too bad, but Peter is having some problems.


Making incense sticks.

Our guide, Sun, and driver arrive with a spotlessly-clean SUV at 9:30 sharp. Our tour begins with a stop at an incense-making (and tourist stuff) stall. I buy some as a gift not realizing I will need some for offerings at the temples. We carry on to the Tomb of Te Duc, the longest ruling emperor of the Nguyen dynasty who had 104 wives but no children. Our guide explains that he had had a childhood decease that left him impotent, but that he was both a poet and a scholar. There are many kilometres of tunnels under the tomb and he is buried at an unknown location within the tunnels. Sun sounds very broad of this ancestor.



The entrance to the tomb of Tu Tuc.


Where he "cried" and wrote poetry.

Next we visit the Citadel and Imperial City. Built in the early 19th Century by the Emperor Gia Long. It is fashioned after Beijing’s Forbidden city. Much has been destroyed - stolen by the French the guide suggests - there is constant reconstruction. By the back gate, guards still fish in the pond. Sun says that the last, 13th, emperor was the son of the 12th emperor’s most senior mandarin and one of his wives as he was gay - didn’t like women! While in the Royal Traditional Theater, we become the oddity for two little girls visiting with their family from Hoi Chi Minh city. I manage to get a picture of the two little dolls. This is when I wish I had something Canadian to give as a gift.

Two sweet kids from Sai Gon. Tourists like us!

Statue at the Citadel.








Peter is not allowed to use the Emperor's door.

One of the gates at the Citadel.

Peter listens to Sun's story.

Building in the Forbidden Purple City.

Peter is feeling a little under the weather, so after a coke while I have a small lunch, he heads back to the hotel and I carry on to the Thien Mu Pagoda. Built in 1601, it is still a religious community. The seven-tiered tower in front of the pagoda, built in 1864, is a symbol of Hue and of Vietnam. We must take incense to offer here as well. I also get to put my left hand on the stone elephant in one of the small towers and make a wish with my eyes closed. Sun is Buddhist and believes in the myths and rituals. Also, he proudly tells me that Buddhist people do not eat dog like the much disliked Chinese people do!
Consistently through Vietnam, we meet people who know we are Canadian, but who tell us of their dislike of the Chinese and French whom they say stole from the country, but their admiration of the Americans who left an infrastructure and did not steal from the Vietnamese and who helped with the reconstruction of the country. The Americans we speak to carry a sense of guilt, but the Vietnamese seem to carry no animosity. Maybe it has to do with their Buddhism belief.
Peter is feeling a little better when I return, so after a short snooze, we head out for dinner at a little courtyard restaurant I saw last night. Turns out it is part of the City Tour company we used for the tour! My duck cooked with garlic and lemongrass is the first spicy - delicious - Vietnamese food I have had. Peter has French (?) onion soup (to be noted!) and trusty grilled chicken. As in Mexico, you always get the hind quarter.
We have nothing planned for tomorrow, so, hopefully, Peter will be feeling better. He has his yawning sickness which he seems to get a couple of times a year.


The temple area of the Thien Mieu Pagoda.

A happy guardian of the pagoda - that's real human hair!

The seven tiered temple.

Our driver and Sun, our guide.

Hoi An City - A World Heritage Site

Saturday, Feb. 26 to Tuesday, March 1.
On the way to the airport in Nga Trang, we see a Miami-style development, called Venetia, advertised in this very sandy area by the ocean. It is probably a good investment for someone who has time to sit on it.
At the airport, for the first time in Asia, we have a curt, unfriendly lady at the check-in counter. Maybe she didn’t like that so many people got there before it was time for her to begin. Maybe she is from China. Whatever!
The security machine finds the very small, almost minute, pair of scissors I purchased in Ho Chi Minh city and promptly lost, as well as my short, but metal, nail file I have had for five years! Damn, I hate flying out of small airports.
With each move, I always feel a sadness to leave a place we are just getting to know and an anxious anticipation of the next adventure. It’s an emotional roller-coaster.
The flight to Da Nang is only an hour, but I note first that Nga Trang looks as lovely from the air as on the ground. Then I see that every major highway below has continuous housing along it. The ground is a patchwork of small fields, mostly rice, with an amazing number of rivers of varying widths snaking through towards the sea. It is hard to believe they are reporting drought in the central and northern parts of the country. Like the rivers, the airplane dips and dives its way to the airport. Peter suggests that there must be a cross-wind. The remnants of the American military presence is seen around the airport in thick concrete storage buildings.
We have used Sinh travel for our arrangements, and their driver is awaiting us, laughing at his colleagues as we are one of the first couples to emerge with our luggage. Little does he know that this is a first for us.
There are many new resorts built and under construction along the beach road to Hoi An, including a Colin Montgomery designed golf course. Again, the two cities are linked by continuous humanity. The odd field breaks the chain, but it is like the river of motorbikes - never ending.
Hoi An is completely different than any other place we have visited. The closest in feel is Cusco, except that was at 4,000 metres and this is at sea level! You walk everywhere. The narrow streets make dodging the motorbikes a synch.
Now, dodging the merchants is another story! All the main streets and most of the side streets are stores, with living quarters in the rear or above. When I buy my Speedo knock-off, I try it on in the children’s bedroom! But, what a fun, safe place to be. The guide book says to have an extra chip for the camera, and it is true. A camera buff could take a thousand pictures here and each would be unique. Do I sound like I like Hoi An? The fact that Peter can’t stop buying me clothes adds to the enjoyment.

There are many stone statues along the canal. The houses close to the canal are typical of the town.

The entire town has been designated a world heritage sight - which is wonderful. The buildings are Chinese/French with Vietnamese thrown in. Many are dingy in appearance, but that just emphasises their age - as in Cusco. We are almost templed-out, but we do appreciate them from the outside. We walk across the Japanese bridge unsure if we are supposed to have a ticket. In the evening, the lanterns in the streets, on the river, and especially in the lantern stalls are all ablaze! Magical!
The specialty of the town is the making of garments in good quality fabrics - cashmere and silk or blends for suits, wonderful cottons for shirts, various silk and silk blends for women’s clothing - made-to-measure in 24 hours, maximum. You choose a pattern or bring a picture or garment, pick out the fabric, they measure, make, do a fitting for adjustments, and it is done. Total prices are about ½ of the fabric cost in Canada. Okay, I did get some clothes. Peter even got two pair of golf shorts. Not many of his cohorts have made-to-measure shorts.

The staircase in our hotel we get to climb each day.

A pagota doorway.



The Japanese bridge built by the Japanese residents in the 17th Century.

The stalls that sell lanterns.

There are two beaches not far from downtown. On our final day we decide to visit the non-tourist beach west of town. The gentleman across for the hotel who takes our laundry also rents bikes - $1 a day.
After breakfast, we start on the three kilometre trek past rice paddy’s to the end of the road - the South China sea. We pay the 10 cents to park the bikes (they are not allowed on the beach side of the road). In the a.m. the waves are calm, so I have a swim. This must be a calm beach, as there are millions of little shells in perfect condition where the high tide ended in the night. The fishermen’s boats are along the dry sand. These are the basket-shaped boats that are used close to shore. There is only one other person on the beach. We walk for a while so I can dry-off a bit. We see many hermit crabs scurrying from hole to hole, two dead chickens, and one unfortunate puppy who must have gotten caught in the tide. We head back as I have a fitting at 11 and Peter hopes to get shorts made.

The rice paddies on the way to the beach.

The quiet fishermen's beach.

The water baby emerges from the South China Sea.

A fishing boat - tub?

My jacket is perfect and Peter is fitted for shorts, so we head off on our bikes to the east to Cua Bai - otherwise, China Beach - which is where the tourists go. The four to five k. ride out is much busier than the eastern road, therefore, somewhat more exciting - especially when a car is passing side-by-side motorbikes, therefore has to use our side of the road.
Again, we need to park the bikes but this time it is 50 cents. As we have found with stores and restaurants, the more tourists, the higher the price. We walk on the beach a little way. The sand is like talcum powder, but this beach has lots of restaurants and more people. If we had more time, we would choose the other to visit again.
I pick-out my “Speedo” and we ride, slightly sore-bottomed, back to get Peter’s shorts. Success. They fit great.


The busy, tourist beach.

Peter on a bicycle!

Peter's perfect, made-to-measure shorts. The haircut's not bad either.

We have dinner at a Fusion - Austrian/Vietnamese - restaurant. The service is excellent and the food is very tasty but in small quantities. It is on the river across form the old town, so we can see the town lit up. This is a lovely way to end our visit. Now we have to stuff all our stuff in our luggage. Luckily, Peter is a strong guy and carrying it around the corner to the bus in the morning will not be too daunting.
Note: The Viet Nam News paper is creatively sold by maimed or unemployed young men in Hoi An. Somewhere, the price, 6,000 vnd, is carefully scraped-off and an official looking 30,000 d. is added in its place. Actually, you can dicker and pay anything from 10,000 to 30,000. I chose the comfortable figure of 20,000 ($1) as a fair price. My regular guy smiles and waves to me whenever he sees me in town. He appears to have cerebral palsy and is in a push/pull wheelchair, but also has an ingratiating smile.

This little guy is attempting to catch a coloured ball.

Evening magic.

The animal lanterns on the canal.

Last Day in Nga Trang - A Boat Trip

Friday, February 25. Ten months until Christmas! There are Happy New year signs all over Vietnam we assume for the Chinese New Year.
The tour guide is at our hotel early, but we must wait for two on-time participants. We circle town picking-up customers until the van is full. We and a young German couple are the only non-Asians.
At the dock we see the multitude of other vans and buses of people all going to much the destination. Before we leave the dock, the leader gives us numbers in a buddy system - so we don’t leave anybody behind. He uses it faithfully all day. I’m pleased to see this in action.
Our first stop is the snorkelling beach, Mun Island, where there is still a coral reef. Not for long I would predict with the numbers of people scuba-diving and touching the stuff. While I am floating around and enjoying the numbers of colourful fish, I see an instructor with a guy who can hardly swim wearing scuba gear floundering around by the coral. At least they are not too deep.

The second stop is at Mot Island, moored to a concrete dock with three other boats from the same company and a fourth - a booze-cruise filled with rather drunk young people. They are almost finished, thank goodness, as their tour guide is belting out modern songs off key. Lucky them. Once our rice and Vietnamese food buffet is completed (the benches were folded into one long buffet table and covered with a decorative tablecloth), a few benches are returned, but a stage area is kept at one end. The drummer, guitarist, and singers are part of the crew, and they are very talented. They entertain us with songs from each different country represented on the boat - a Neil Young one for Canada! - in the country’s language. They end with a couple of Vietnamese songs. The guy dancing on the stage can’t find a partner from the ladies in the crowd, so Peter volunteers me. What fun!

Once the entertainment is complete, it is time for the swim-up bar. The tree boats have been tied in a “U” shape, so the bar is a raft with one of the crew in the centre with three bottles of wine and lots of little, plastic glasses. In order to get a wine, you must get into the water and swim to the raft, When the Korean guy we have been talking with strips down to his bathing suit and jumps in, I decide it is okay for me. At this point, there re only about three people in the water. I dive in and get my wine. Actually, there is a hunk of pineapple in the cup, so each serving is quite small - it is more for the fun. There are lots of life-buoys for those who don’t swim too well, and, eventually, all the wine is gone and its time to move on. One lady remarks to Peter that I am “lively”. I hope that is a compliment.

The next stop is at The Stone Beach, a luxurious resort with a fabulous double-kidney shaped pool and a beach in a quiet cove with talcum-powder sand. I don’t know where they hid the stones! We spend over an hour here and I have both an ocean and a pool swim. This would be a great R & R place. Even with kids as they have a creative play area.

The next stop, about half way back to town, is an aquarium. All we can say is the $2.50 each it cost to enter is a donation to the local village on the island. Very tacky.

On the way across the bay we get a closer look at the world’s longest over-water cable-car. It goes from town to the amusement area, Vinpearl.
Peter and I are both tired when we are returned to the hotel, but we change and walk back to the Backpacker’s district for a final meal in Nga Trang. Tonight we settle for Italian and each have a pizza that is quite tasty - Peter has pepperoni and bacon while I have a four cheese, yes, with bleu cheese.
Our time here has been lovely. As usual, we have the sad feeling of leaving a place just when you know your way around and the anxious feeling of opening a present of a new place which is strange.
Note: Vietnam, when a car signals to turn or to back-up, the car plays a song instead of just beeping. We have heard, It’s a New World After All and Happy Birthday, so far.

A Couple of Lazy Days in Nga Trang

Wednesday, Feb. 23
Today is a lazy day, up late, walk to temple, walk back along the waterfront, clean up, out for dinner, and early to bed. What a chore!
Actually, the walk to the temple is about two miles, and we see the fishermen’s housing by the inlet - not pretty - and an area where houses have been bulldozed to make way for development. Also, on the sidewalk by the inlet, pieces of fish have been shredded and are drying as cars, motorcycles, dogs, and people go by. I bet this is the stuff you get in restaurants. Yuk.

Houses near the inlet.

Houses fishermen live in on the inlet.

We don’t meet any tourists on the last part of our walk - I guess they get driven to the Thap Ba temple, as there are lots of them there.
The outside of many of the five buildings has been renovated, but the inside has centuries of black soot clinging to the brick walls from the incense burning at the alters. Both young and old “believers” come to worship at the alters. As with the temples most places, this one is on the top of a small hill. There are stone and wood benches and many trees, so it is a lovely place to sit and relax before the return walk. I try the local cold tea drink that is served everywhere. It has a sweetness and flower flavour to it, and is very refreshing. Peter sticks to Pepsi - surprise, surprise.
The temple from afar.

Pillers (reconstructed) but without the roof.

A temple building.

Inside the main temple builiding.

On the walk back, we enjoying watching the local children, adults, and families enjoying the park, beach, and ocean. We notice an Irish pub in a hotel and decide to come for dinner. We know it will be more than the local prices, but we need to get Peter some Western food.
Although the setting is very “Irish Pub”, the food is a mix. I try something Irish I have never heard of: a ground beef in spicy sauce with mashed potatoes on top served in an iron bowl. It is quite tasty. I order steamed vegetables on the side, so I leave most of the potato topping. Peter has a steak, which is done nice and rare. An expensive $35 for two with four 2/1 Happy Hour beer. We just blew the Vietnam budget. Wait until we get to Hoi An and I buy some silk clothing.

Entrance to the Irish Pub.

The local concert hall.

This used to be a tourist information building.

This is not a hedge, but hundreds of potted-plants.

Thursday, Feb. 24.
Two weeks and two days and I’ll be in Los Cabos and Peter will be enjoying a Greek Oven pizza. Each new day has passed slowly, but the entire trip has flown by. Only my now crowded hat - a conversation starter - reveals the number of places we have visited.
We head to the beach early today and I have a lovely swim before the 10 a.m. change of wind. We laze and read until just after lunch time. As the wind picks-up, there is a fool paragliding with a little Vietnamese guy in a sling-seat flying with him. Soon, there are a couple of guys kite-boarding and we both have thoughts of David Johnston and how much he would love this bay. I wonder if he has been here.


The waterfront.

The calm sea in the morning.

The parasailing in the breezy afternoon.

The choppy afternoon sea.

We head to the local market. It makes anything we have seen in South America look like Safeway! Circling the market is semi-circular apartment buildings which we guess must be government low-income places. It is all quite unique, especially when you have locals on their motor vehicles going up and down the aisles - like drive-thru shopping.
Tonight we head to the Backpacker’s district for dinner. We settle on a Texas rib place owned by an older guy from Memphis and a young fellow from Chicago. I have the combo - chicken and ribs - and Peter has the ribs. His barbeque sauce has a real kick as have the beans. The bill was exceptionally reasonable - like about $20 for two with two drinks each.
Tomorrow we go to the islands - snorkelling.









Peter gets his western-food fix two nights in a row; today and tomorrow.